Blythe Fairchild had always imagined Hell to be filled with fire and brimstone and sharp jabs to her milky flesh, but today she knew how wrong she was. Though the young witch was not certain how she had died, she knew it must have been in truly a sinful fashion, for Hell was a birthing room and she was here.
(Was thinking that enough to discount her from Heaven? Something to consult Mr. Dursley about, she thought).
Ever so often, particularly in the last year or two, Aunt Temperance had made noises about Blythe following in her footsteps and doing something good with her time and efforts. Thus far, the extent of her aunt's insistence had been lessons which, though deeply uncomfortable, had all been entirely in the abstract. As she stood in the bedchamber with the labouring Mrs. Hughes, however, it all became very real, very quickly. The smells, sights, and sounds of a woman who was clearly lacking in comfort were all so visceral, so primal, and Blythe wondered if she wouldn't faint before this was all over.
(It might be a blessing.)
"Yes," she answered from her vantage point as far from Mrs. Hughes as she could muster, eyes trained on anything else until realization hit her like the Hogwarts Express rolling into Hogsmeade Station: if Aunt Temperance was asking about breech births...
Lord help her.
(Blythe was not certain which of the three 'hers' she referred to.)
(Was thinking that enough to discount her from Heaven? Something to consult Mr. Dursley about, she thought).
Ever so often, particularly in the last year or two, Aunt Temperance had made noises about Blythe following in her footsteps and doing something good with her time and efforts. Thus far, the extent of her aunt's insistence had been lessons which, though deeply uncomfortable, had all been entirely in the abstract. As she stood in the bedchamber with the labouring Mrs. Hughes, however, it all became very real, very quickly. The smells, sights, and sounds of a woman who was clearly lacking in comfort were all so visceral, so primal, and Blythe wondered if she wouldn't faint before this was all over.
(It might be a blessing.)
"Yes," she answered from her vantage point as far from Mrs. Hughes as she could muster, eyes trained on anything else until realization hit her like the Hogwarts Express rolling into Hogsmeade Station: if Aunt Temperance was asking about breech births...
Lord help her.
(Blythe was not certain which of the three 'hers' she referred to.)
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